The Message
by oldmule
Summary: Post 9.8 and Harry's world is about to fall apart. There's only one person on his mind, however, one person that he needs to warn.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm sorry for what I said, Ruth, on the rooftop. Forgive me."

And with that Harry was dragged somewhat more forcibly than necessary through the pod doors.

The team stood.

The whirlwind of Internal Affairs had blown across the grid and left them in its aftermath, in a stillness, a false stillness, an uncomfortable stillness.

They wondered what Harry had said to Ruth on the roof.

So did Ruth.

He had said nothing to her in recent days. She had not had a chance to speak to him since Lucas had died. And yet the look in his eye as they dragged him away. The look as he mentioned the rooftop. She knew he was trying to tell her something.

She waited patiently, she waited and she watched and eventually she made her move.

The wind was strong this evening and the light was falling rapidly. She stood by the rail, trying to determine if anyone was watching, she felt uneasy, she felt observed.

She leant, gazing out at the lights of the city that were becoming brighter and brighter as the daylight deserted the sky.

Her hand gripped the rail. She sighed and gently slid her fingers along it, unseen by anyone who might be watching.

The smooth coldness of the metal was interrupted as her fingers splayed over tape and plastic. She yawned, her hand rising to her mouth and then she moved away.

The watchers too turned away, disinterested.

Ruth held the tiny package between her fingers and whilst seemingly adjusting her blouse collar, she secreted it into her bra .

And then she left the grid and went home.

She sat.

A large glass of wine untouched beside her.

Between finger and thumb she held a USB stick. Her laptop sat waiting for it. She contemplated what she might find on it. She wondered about the possible message that he might have left for her.

She slid it into place and waited impatiently for it to appear on her desktop.

And then she opened the drive and read what Harry had wanted her to know.


	2. Chapter 2

There were three files on the stick.

One entitled Ruth. The second 'contacts'. The third 'Misc."

She clicked on the first.

_Ruth,_

_If you are reading this then they have removed me from the grid before I have had a chance to talk to you, for which I am truly sorry, as in all probability, I may never get the chance to talk with you again._

_And so I must say as much as I can within this letter – don't worry though, I won't embarrass you with any overly gushing sentiment._

_Albany never worked. I couldn't let you die, not you and so risking nothing but my job was a decision that required no effort. You must feel no guilt about that, call it merely the repaying of a debt long owed by me, to you. _

_I fear though that what should only have been a dismissal has become the threat of much more. _

_There are those who want me not only out of the service but I fear out of the way on a more permanent basis and there are things … secrets, that should they find them will most certainly mean my demise one way or the other._

_I fear, Ruth, that you may hear reports of my past, reports of events and deeds that still turn my blood cold and that I suspect for which you will never forgive me._

_I ask you to remember me as I have tried to be, a man acting with some principle, in a world with little. _

_All I have done has been in the interest of the country and though there is so much I regret, many of the decisions I made would have to be the same should I have to make them again._

_There is buried deep one secret which I must protect, one thing that they must never discover._

_Whatever you hear and whatever you learn of me then please try not to hate me too much._

_Forgive me Ruth for not being the man you would expect me to be. _

_Forgive me for being the cause of your exile and the reason it ended._

_Forgive me for all I should have said but didn't and all I shouldn't have said but did._

_Forgive for me for what I am about to do._

_Yours…always,_

_Harry_


	3. Chapter 3

Ruth sat.

She had barely got past the first sentence.

For the second time in her life she was overwhelmed with the thought of having had her final conversation with Harry. And this felt no better than the last. In fact it was worse because she knew how it would feel to crave his company, his voice, his face, his eyes, him.

She pushed herself on, disbelieving that this could be the end, refusing to believe it.

By the second sentence she found herself smiling at his promise of no '_overly gushing sentiment'. _She wondered if either of them had ever, could ever do 'gushing sentiment'. A small part of her wished they could.

By sentence three she had stopped dead in her tracks once more. Albany was a fake. Her first reaction was to curse him, which she did with a great deal of four lettered gushing sentiment. Why hadn't he told her before, why had he let her speak to him the way she had.

Oh, Harry.

And once more she continued, scolding him and loving him in turn, as she read on.

Did he think so little of her that she could judge him so easily. Did he have no idea that she had read his files many years ago, that she knew of the ops he had been involved with, black and otherwise. Did he have no comprehension that she knew the man he was and the things of which he was capable. Albany should have taught them both that. Albany should have taught her that. She had doubted him, believed he had acted against himself, put millions in danger for her, she should have known him better and now she had been reminded of that she would not doubt that the things he had done had been justified, that his maths was sound, that the end justified the means.

She was almost at the end of the letter.

A secret, their world was filled with secrets, could this one be so bad. Suddenly she feared for him, feared for what he would do to protect it.

Distracted momentarily by his need for forgiveness.

'_Forgive me for all I should have said but didn't and all I shouldn't have said but did.'_

She knew what he meant, for saying too little and too much, for not saying what should have been said.

And then she read his last line.

'_Forgive for me for what I am about to do.'_

Fears flooded back, dread overwhelming her. And before she knew what she was doing she was heading back to the grid, she was entering his office, she was unlocking his drawer and she was peering with horror at the empty space where she knew the single tablet usually lay.

No, Harry. No.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry, would have posted this last night but the site was down. It's all disclaimed, by the way, and does not belong to me. **

* * *

><p>Ruth ran around the corner and came to a grinding halt.<p>

There was no way she was going to get to see, let alone talk to Harry. He was under house arrest and the goons standing outside were clearly not to be persuaded, cajoled or tricked into letting her past.

Desperately she gazed at the single light in the window and all her mind could see was the image of Harry with the end of his life resting in the palm of his hand, in the shape of a tiny innocuous looking pill.

She turned and fled, knowing now what she must do to get through to him.

Catherine opened the door.

"Hi, you don't know me but I work with your father and I'm sorry to bother you but I have to speak to you."

"Okay," Catherine nodded, slightly taken aback that anyone should freely admit to working with her father.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked after shutting the door. As she turned Ruth was hovering close by.

"No thank you," Ruth took a deep breath, "Catherine, I'm afraid Harry is in trouble. They won't let me see him but it's imperative that we …you get into his house tonight …now."

Catherine opened her mouth to ask all the questions that sprang to the forefront of her mind but Ruth stopped her.

"I'll answer your questions, or as many as I can but please can I do it in the car, we really need to go."

Ruth reached to the coat rack and handed a jacket to Catherine.

"Who are you?"

"Ruth."

"Okay, Ruth."

The traffic was agonisingly slow. Ruth's hands gripped the wheel as she tried to remain calm, tried to breathe.

"He called me a couple of days ago," said Catherine, "and left a message, it was innocuous enough, I think he was in the car, but there was something in his tone, something I couldn't put my finger on."

"He thought he was about to die," said Ruth, thinking how ironic it was that that was what she was thinking about him right now.

Catherine looked shocked and guilty.

"I never called him back. I was stuck in an edit and thought it would wait…he would wait …what if …?" she never finished the thought. "Is this danger that he's in still linked to that?"

"In a way, yes," said Ruth, "he has done something …given away a secret, committed treason and he's under investigation."

Catherine's shocked expression found a new level of extremity. She shook her head, refusing to believe what she was being told.

"He would never do that."

"He did. Though no one will be harmed or hurt because of it."

"Why?"

"He was trying to protect someone, one of his team."

"Well I hope to god they were worth it," said Catherine, sounding like her father.

"So do I," said Ruth, just before she screamed an obscenity at the slowest driver in the world who just happened to be right in front of her.

"So what danger is he in?"

"He might be about to do something stupid."

"Stupid, like what?"

"Just something …foolish."

Catherine looked like she would not give in without an answer.

"Please, just take my word for it," said Ruth.

Catherine said nothing for a little while, watching the traffic, her frustration clearly rising too, she tried to focus on other things.

"Have you worked with him long?"

"Yes," answered Ruth quietly.

"I still can't believe he would commit treason, not dad."

"Not all of us would call it that."

"And what would you call it, Ruth?"

Ruth failed to answer.

"Did he not know what he was doing?"

"He knew."

"But he did it anyway?"

"It was complicated, Catherine."

"Everything about my father's life is complicated. He doesn't do plain and simple."

"No, he doesn't," agreed Ruth, "but what he does, he does because he's a good man and you should never forget that, whatever happens."

Catherine looked at her and studied the face that was still intently fixed upon the road.

"So what do you want me to do? Talk to him? Give him a message?"

"Be there."

"Is that it?"

"Yes, and tell him something from me."

Ruth passionately hoped that he would still be capable of hearing that message by the time they finally reached him.


	5. Chapter 5

Nature, or nurture? Ruth came down on the side of nature. Watching Catherine at work convinced her of that. There must be something in the genes, she thought, as the young woman pulled almost every trick in the book to get past the guards to see Harry.

Finally, they let her through. She walked purposefully to the front door and rang the bell.

Again.

And again.

Ruth felt the bile rising in her throat and her lungs screaming to be filled.

And then she breathed, sucking in the air until those lungs thought they would burst anew.

Harry stood at the door.

He was clearly surprised to see his daughter.

"Catherine, how did you…?" he looked beyond at the street and the goons. "Never mind. Come in, come in."

She stepped across the threshold and suddenly hugged him warmly, deeply. Hugged him like a daughter who needed her father and he relished it. And then just as quickly she stepped away towards the kitchen.

"I need a cuppa. Shall we?" and she had gone. He followed, watching as she switched the kettle on, followed by the tap and then the radio.

Harry didn't try and speak over the cacophony, he knew what she was doing. What he wanted to know was why?

"Ruth sent me," said Catherine as loudly as she dare.

Harry couldn't help the small smile that broke across his lips. How very Ruth.

"She says that there's something missing from your locked drawer and she's worried about what you intend to do with it," Catherine was studying his face intently when a thought occurred to her.

"Christ, dad, you're not about to do a Columbine, or something and start shooting loads of people!"

Harry laughed. As bad as this situation was, it seemed his daughter and his …well, Ruth, seemed to be able to imagine much worse.

"No, I'm not," he smiled, "well, certainly not 'loads'."

Catherine didn't relax yet.

"Tell Ruth that what she's talking about was taken by internal affairs," he paused, "and tell her thank you."

"For what?"

He shook his head, "It doesn't matter."

"For caring?" she asked, studying him.

His eyes found her and he nodded before reaching for the teabags.

"It was her, wasn't it? She was the one you saved. The one that's got you in this mess."

"What has she told you, Catherine?"

"Not much, just that you saved someone from your team by giving away a state secret and that now you're in trouble and might do something 'foolish'.

"I'm always doing something foolish," he said sadly, "but you musn't blame her, come what may."

"Why?"

"Because she didn't ask to be saved. I chose to save her."

"She said you were a good man and I shouldn't forget that."

Harry concentrated on tea making and refilled the kettle, turning it back on and then he stood rubbing his forehead.

"Dad?"

He glanced at Catherine.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing you need worry about."

"Dad!"

He sighed. Trying to protect her wasn't going to work.

"I'm being investigated and I don't know what will happen."

She waited for more.

"There are things I've done, things they won't let go and it may mean prison."

Catherine tried to control the horror she felt.

"But you shouldn't worry, I'll be fine, honestly."

"I might have fallen for that when I was six, dad, but not now."

He laughed. She was more than a match for him. As the gentle smile slipped from his face she knew he was in trouble and suddenly she felt like the parent. She clasped him to her once more.

"Did Ruth say anything else?" he asked over her shoulder.

"Not really."

They broke away but Catherine's gaze was still intent upon him.

"How come you never mentioned her, dad?"

"It's work," he answered as though that would suffice, it had so often in the past.

"Something tells me she's more than work," Catherine's eyebrows were raised.

The small, sad smile returned to Harry's face.

"I asked her to marry me."

This was more that Catherine had expected, a lot more.

"She said no."

And the lost look in his eye broke her heart. Her father, the man, alone, lonely, refused. Suddenly she saw him afresh, suddenly she had, for the first time, a true idea of what his life had failed to be. And she understood.

"Well, then she's as daft as she seems," she desperately wanted to make him smile again.

"She's not that. She's …exceptional."

"Exceptional?"

"Yes."

"Dad, that's not exactly the best word, is it?"

"No, you're right, there are no words for Ruth."

And then Catherine knew how much he loved the strange, interesting woman who had burst into her house.

"Does she know how much you love her?"

He looked at her.

"She knows."

"I think she cares for you," she said honestly.

Harry nodded, "But not enough."

He turned off the tap and the radio and handed her a mug of tea.

End of conversation.

* * *

><p>The car door opened.<p>

Catherine climbed in as Ruth began the engine.

"Internal affairs took whatever was in his drawer." said Catherine, "he's fine,"

Ruth nodded.

"Well, not fine. Not really. Though it's never that easy to tell with him."

"He rubs his forehead when things are really bad," Ruth said quietly as she pulled away from the curb.

"He said 'thank you' by the way."

Ruth nodded, understanding.

"Why did you say no to him, Ruth?"

"It's complicated," was all she managed.

"He loves you, how complicated can it be?"

"You don't understand, Catherine."

"No I don't."

They drove on.

"You care about him?"

"Yes."

"But not enough?"

"No," Ruth said firmly, "too much."

"You're hurting him."

"I know."

"You're right, Ruth, it is far too complicated for me to understand," said an exasperated Catherine, "but hey, maybe you can explain it to him at visiting time …in prison.

Ruth kept her eyes on the road. Harry had told her no more than that. Her mind drifted back to the letter once more.

'_There are things … secrets, that should they find them will most certainly mean my demise one way or the other.'_

Prison was probably one of the lesser evils right now.

* * *

><p>Harry slid the clip into the gun and checked the safety. He paused feeling it's weight in the palm of his hand and then he silently thanked Ruth for bringing him Catherine on tonight of all nights.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

The assembled ranks representing government, security services and internal affairs were waiting.

Sir Harry Pearce entered the room.

* * *

><p>Catherine sat in the edit suite spooling through her rushes for the umpteenth time wondering about the life her father had led, the happiness he had never really achieved and the future he might spend in a prison cell.<p>

* * *

><p>Ruth perched at her desk staring at the several files spread before her.<p>

Her focus though was elsewhere.

Her attention was centred on listening to the earpiece hidden under her hair, the earpiece that connected her with the inquiry, with Harry and with his, and therefore with her fate.

* * *

><p>"Then there is no more to say about Northern Ireland," insisted the Home Secretary, trying desperately to move the proceedings on and save Harry further scrutiny on that subject at least.<p>

"I'm afraid there is," said the head of Six with a vindictive smile, "plenty more."

Harry held his temper and concentrated on the feel of the gun nestled into the small of his back.

* * *

><p>Ruth glanced up as Tariq passed, he too had a feed, it being him who had bugged the so called secret meeting.<p>

He smiled reassuringly at her, though a great deal of what he was hearing was new to him and he was more than a little shocked at the exploits of Harry's past in the service.

But for Ruth he smiled and tried to make it seem like it didn't matter.

* * *

><p>There was one other person listening in to proceedings.<p>

Their hand rested on an over large glass of malt, an early glass of malt.

They smiled as they heard Harry's exploits being twisted, turned and judged.

They sighed in satisfaction as they felt him being drawn towards the edge of the abyss, knowing that at some point later that day the operation he least wanted discussed would rear its ugly head.

They raised the glass to their lips in a silent toast to their associates on the committee who would make sure that the secret he so needed to remain strictly that, would be outed, and Harry Pearce and his precious Section D would be no more.


	7. Chapter 7

**Never worked so hard on a fic. Unusually I didn't make this up, it's all based on historical truth! Well, not the bit with Harry obviously! Little fluff, lots of plot but try and stick with it and we will come out the other side. Honest. At least I know what the secret he's trying to protect is now - well, my meagre version of it!**

* * *

><p>"So, <em>Sir<em> Harry," it was said with derision by the head of Six, "let us move on to your time in Berlin."

"By all means," said Harry calmly.

"1983, I believe was the time you were there."

"Yes."

"And what were you doing?"

"We were monitoring the rising tension in US, Soviet relations."

"Was this in the build up to Able Archer?" asked the DG.

"Able Archer?" asked Internal Affairs.

Harry took a deep breath and wondered how some of these people got to be anywhere close to the security services when they clearly knew so little.

"It followed Operation Ryan and Regan's PSYOP," Harry felt like being particularly obstructive.

Internal Affairs looked even more blank, if that was at all possible.

The Home Secretary looked at him impatiently and as swiftly as possible said, "The Soviets thought there was a nuclear threat and no bloody wonder. Reagan was arming himself and Europe to the back teeth, not to mention launching the 'Star Wars' programme and to top it all he was flying war planes to the brink of Soviet Airspace and then suddenly veering off. Officially it was known as playing silly buggers."

Harry smiled.

* * *

><p>Ruth smiled. She still hadn't met Towers but she always found herself liking the sound of him.<p>

Of course she knew about Soviet operatives watching those with the power to launch nuclear strikes, she knew about the US assembling the largest fleet ever known and sailing it so close to Russian waters as to practically celebrate the threat they offered.

As Towers had said, 'no bloody wonder'.

At least Harry was sounding calm and reasonable.

* * *

><p>"So that was Able Archer," said Internal Affairs thinking he now knew it all.<p>

"No," said Harry, "that was what came before, relations were strained and then Korean flight 007 was shot down in Soviet airspace and things escalated."

"And that was Able Archer?"

Harry shook his head and the HS sighed, defeated.

"No Able Archer was a NATO nuclear exercise over ten days across Western Europe, it was deemed by the Russians to be not an exercise but a ruse behind which to launch a real nuclear attack. It was the closest we came to armageddon since the Cuban crisis."

Internal Affairs nodded, it was all news to him.

"And your involvement?" said Six, eager to move this on.

"To monitor the Russian response. We knew that the Soviets were very nervous and truly believed this to be an echo of the real thing, particularly as they felt hemmed in by Regan and his anti communist policies."

The DG and Home Secretary nodded.

"And was your involvement any more than that?" said Six leeringly.

"We tried to pass on intel to prove that the exercise was just that, that there was no reality to it."

"What kind of intel?"

"We released limited eyes only documents stating the nature of the operation."

"But were you not believed?" asked Towers.

"No, there were many coded messages flying between us and the cousins, the Soviets were convinced it proved the attack was on because of the close relationship between Reagan and Thatcher. It was actually correspondence between the Palace and Washington over the invasion of Grenada."

Internal Affairs looked even more confused.

"Was that all, Sir Harry?"

"There was an agent who was about to report wrongly that the threat was real."

"And?"

"And he had to be prevented?"

"Prevented how?"

"He was … decommissioned" said Harry softly.

"By the Soviets?"

"By me."

There was a pause, they all knew what he was saying. But Six would not let it go.

"You killed him?"

"Yes."

"And after Able Archer, then what?"

"I came home," said Harry rubbing his forehead briefly.

"And the following year?"

"I was back in London on the grid."

"Watching over the security of the nation?" asked Six, a tone in his voice unheard by all except Harry.

"Of course," answered Harry, glad Ruth was not here to here what was soon to come.

* * *

><p>Ruth could hear a tone in Harry's voice that she knew. She knew it as the tone that meant he had enough, if she had heard it in his office she would have turned and left knowing that that was the end of the conversation.<p>

And she worried. She worried what he might say next.

* * *

><p>"So tell us about your responsibilities that year, Sir Harry."<p>

Harry hesitiated for a mere moment.

"Or do you not remember?" said Six smiling.

* * *

><p>The glass of Scotch was empty, the smile though was full and warm and satisfied.<p>

Now began the end of Harry Pearce.

* * *

><p>"I rememeber very well," said Harry, "and it is a long story, I wonder if before I begin I may be allowed a break."<p>

"A comfort break?" smiled Six, "as the cousins would say."

"Yes," answered Harry between clenched teeth.

"Of course."

"Thank you," and he turned away escorted by the guard that was never far from him.

"You're welcome," said Six both he and the mysterious listener smiled expectantly.

* * *

><p>Ruth was worried. She did not know why. It was instinct. It was something. Something that told her he didn't want to answer, that there was worse to come.<p>

* * *

><p>Harry walked from the room and as the door closed behind him his hand reached back and clasped the grip of the gun and then he withdrew it from his belt.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

**Can't believe I did so much research on the last chapter and then managed to spell something as simple as 'Reagan' wrong, though thanks to Euterpe for pointing it out and suggesting that I might have meant Regan from The Exorcist! LOL. 'Heads back to correct mistake'**

* * *

><p>The committee sat waiting, whispered conversations amongst themselves.<p>

All bar the Home Secretary.

He had an uneasy feeling about where the questioning was going and the sense that there was more to this than finding the truth.

"He must be a little more nervous than we thought," Six laughed disdainfully, "judging by the amount of time it's taking."

Internal Affairs and a couple of Towers's parliamentary associates smiled along with him. Both Towers and the DG sat stony faced, discomforted and unhappy.

And still they waited.

"Maybe he ate in the Commons cafeteria," someone joked.

"Maybe he knows the trouble he's in," said Internal Affairs.

"Maybe he's in a stall with no paper," they laughed.

And then finally the door opened.

The guard was first through the door.

The guard was the only one through the door.

"Problem?" asked Six.

"Yes sir, he's gone."

* * *

><p>Ruth held her breath.<p>

* * *

><p>Catherine gave up on trying to find a shot that was vaguely in focus for more than a couple of seconds and picked up her phone.<p>

"Ruth?"

"Catherine."

"Ruth, I have this horrible feeling that something has happened to dad."

"Then you'd be right," said Ruth.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean, gone?" demanded Six.<p>

"He held me at gun point and slipped away. I've spoken to security and there's no sign of him leaving."

"You're telling us he's still in the building?"

"No sir, he's gone. I just don't know how."

"His house?"

"Under surveillance. He can't go back there."

Six hit his hand hard against the table.

The DG shook his head.

Towers, well there was something that made Towers want to smile.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean he's gone," demanded Catherine.<p>

"He's disappeared, gone under the radar, vanished."

"But, they'll find him won't they?"

"Not if he doesn't want to be found."

"But Ruth…"

"This is what he meant he was going to do, he needed to protect himself and us. Don't worry Catherine, I'm sure he'll be fine."

"He's alone."

"I know."

"You have to find him, Ruth. Find him and tell him."

"Tell him, what?"

"Tell him, he's not alone."

Ruth hesitated.

"I will, Catherine, I'll find him and I'll do my best to help him."

"Even if he tells you he doesn't deserve your help."

"Even if he rejects me and turns me away."

"He won't do that, Ruth."

"No, I don't think he will."

* * *

><p>Catherine put the phone down and then picked it back up. She should tell Graham, even if she knew what his response would be.<p>

* * *

><p>Ruth sat at her desk. The earpiece still spilling the indignation of the Inquiry panel.<p>

'I'll find him,' she'd said. Shame she didn't have the faintest idea where he might be.


	9. Chapter 9

"Stupid, stupid, woman."

It was an unfair thing and a blatantly incorrect thing to say about Ruth. But it was Ruth herself who said it.

She hurried across the grid, her tea abandoned and opened her handbag working her fingers into the lining and pulling out the USB stick Harry had left for her.

"Stupid…..stupid…stupid," she muttered again, wondering what was wrong with her that she had failed to remember, let alone look at the contents of the other two files.

She ignored '_Ruth'_, knowing its contents almost by heart and instead clicked on '_Contacts_', the contacts she hoped that would provide her with a location for Harry.

She read the contents of the file.

"Well, thanks a lot," she hissed.

'_EAST'_

That was it.

East where? East what? East End? East Ham? East Acton? East Street?

"Bollocks!"

Dimitri looked up. Ruth smiled benignly. He looked away, he had clearly misheard her.

So some cryptic, unhelpful rubbish in the first file and in the other…

"Come on, Harry, give me something useful" she whispered.

She opened '_Misc_'.

Well at least there was more than one word. He'd managed a full four this time.

Not that they would help her locate him any more than the other.

But she would never forget them.

'_I love you, Ruth.'_


	10. Chapter 10

The Home Secretary walked to the door, "someone keep me informed.

The DG stopped him, "He's trying to protect someone …something."

Towers nodded, "… but not himself."

"Looks like Sir Harry's in yet more strife," gloated Six.

"And we hadn't even got on to '84," added Internal Affairs.

Towers glowered and went.

* * *

><p>Ruth vaguely registered the exchange as it spilled from her earpiece which was lying on her desk, she was still more that a little distracted by Harry's message.<p>

Why, she wondered, why had he done that, said that, after so long unsaid?

Because he thought there was no way back, she concluded. If he didn't say it then, he never would.

So he had said it, on screen, in a file called 'Misc'.

* * *

><p>The glass that had held the early measure of scotch was no longer being cradled in a relaxed, indolent hand. It was lying in small pieces against the rather elaborate fireplace.<p>

"Damn you, Harry. Damn you and your games."

She rose from the chair and turned from the room. She didn't know where he was right now, but she knew where he was going. And if _he_ was going there, then so was she.

* * *

><p>Harry strode towards the train, he was helping a woman overloaded by bags and children, she thought him a gentleman, he thought her convenient. He smiled at her as he stepped on board with the heaviest case. Once inside he nodded as she thanked him profusely and sat down nearby, raising his paper above his face but not reading. He watched the goons on the platform watching for him. They'd never get anywhere near him. They were worse than useless. Unlike the woman he was seeking out, the Russian, and the American. He needed to find them both.<p>

He wondered if Ruth had read his message. All of his messages.

He did love her, he always would, even if he never saw her again.


	11. Chapter 11

East. Bloody East.

Ruth sat at home. Thinking. She felt like getting the atlas out and stabbing a pin anywhere from here to Japan!

Bloody man.

Bloody incorrigible, secretive, frustrating, gorgeous man!

She sighed and sat back, taking an enormous mouthful of scotch. It wasn't even as if she was very fond of the stuff, she was only drinking it because it reminded her of him.

Bloody man.

East. Russia. Able Archer. Nato. False Intel. Reagan. "Decommissioned " "By the Soviets?" "By me." Six. Internal Affairs. 1984.

Ruth's mind was free running, leaping from one memory to another, hurdling the subjects, traversing the facts…. '84…"And we hadn't even got on to '83"

What happened in '84. Harry was back on the grid, "watching over the security of the nation" Six had said and at that point Harry had had enough and needed a break.

Something happened in '84 thought Ruth. Something. And had it any connection with the rest? Everything had connections.

She stood up and crossed to the window.

"What did you do, Harry, what's the secret?"

He couldn't hear her and she couldn't see him, but it helped to pretend.

The doorbell jolted her out of her reverie and she told her heart, which beat expectantly, that it was not going to be him.

"Ruth, may I come in?"

She stood back with a smile.

Catherine came in and crossed into the living room giving a nod of approval to Ruth who picked up a fresh wine glass.

"I'm sorry to bother you at home."

"It's not a problem."

"Were you busy?"

"Just thinking."

"About dad?"

"Yes," said Ruth simply.

"Do you know where he is?"

"No. He's 'east' is the only thing I know."

"East where?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"I doubt that," said Catherine smiling, "according to dad your guess would be considerably better."

Ruth raised her eyebrows.

"He told me you were 'exceptional'."

Ruth smiled, "well, considering his state of mind at the moment and the bloody daft things he keeps doing, I wouldn't put much store by that."

Catherine smiled and took the wine.

"Will he be alright, Ruth?"

"I don't know."

The young woman looked both relieved at Ruth's honesty and worried.

"Harry, can take care of himself and if anyone's going to disappear off the map successfully then it will be him."

"But."

"But something has got him worried, beyond worried, something from the past and I have no idea what it is."

"But you'll find out."

"I'm not sure he wants me to but, yes, I rather think I will."


	12. Chapter 12

Harry was alone in a sea of people.

He looked like a tourist enjoying the day, the view, the glories of Moscow.

Looks could be deceptive.

He was glad of one thing though, for just a moment in time he was not reliving the memories or trying to expunge the guilt. He was sat thinking about Ruth, about the Grand Tour, about sitting in cafes and watching the world go by. And though he knew he could never bring her to Moscow it was enough to think of her elsewhere with him.

If only things had been different.

If only he had whisked her away there and then, swept her off her feet and transported her onto The Grand Tour

He smiled at himself, he was hardly the sweep them off their feet kind of man.

Sadly.

* * *

><p>Ruth was listening to the news over breakfast.<p>

She hadn't slept well …again.

"_Reports are reaching us of a serious fire in East Sussex, the blaze at a factory in Bexhill began last night…."_

East Sussex, though Ruth, alerted by anything with East in it. She'd hardly got through the weather forecast earlier, so much bloody wind coming from the east had set her nerves on edge.

But suddenly 'east' slipped from her mind and all her concentration rested on 'Sussex'.

A cottage in Sussex.

She still didn't know why she had plucked that one county from her mind, but she had and even though, in her way, she was trying to tell him how much she felt, she knew that she had failed, that he had misunderstood.

No, actually, he had got it right, she was the one who had got it wrong, she was the one afraid of moving on, of being anything but what they were, afraid of losing what they had in favour of something she had often dreamt of.

Bloody foolish woman.

East…concentrate on East, she told herself. This had to be something to do with '82 and '83. She had to work it out.

* * *

><p>The woman stood watching Harry from afar.<p>

He didn't see her. It had been a while but she was still damned good at what she did.

She had wanted to shame him, to reveal the secret and ruin him but the bastard had foiled her plan.

And now she wondered whether to take her revenge and just kill him or maintain the effort and reveal the secret.

Now that he was here it was sorely tempting to just be rid of the man and his bloody morals.

But no, she would wait, wait and ponder and then enjoy. He shouldn't get off that easily.

Harry Pearce in Moscow, oh there were lots of people who would just love to get their hands on him and would pay rather marvellously for it.

Win. Win.

* * *

><p>As she watched Harry she was unaware of the slight, blonde haired man watching her. It had been a while but he was still damned good at what he did.<p>

The CIA were in town.

And they needed to keep Harry Pearce quiet.

That and her.

They all needed to be silenced, this was too big for anyone to know the truth.


	13. Chapter 13

"Hello Alena."

"Harry."

She hid the surprise of his sudden appearance. Had it not been her tailing him? She should have known better.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he said, sitting down beside her.

She laughed a bitter, sarcastic laugh.

"At one time, possibly …but now," she smiled, "age has hardly preserved you as the most fearsome of figures, Harry."

He glanced down at himself contemplating the ravages of time. And then his eyes settled on hers.

"And it's good to see that your methods of preservation come with the help of a scalpel and a needle."

"Needs must, Harry. Needs must."

* * *

><p>The blonde haired man stood watching from the other side of the bar, shielded by a group of serious drinkers who were set in for the evening.<p>

It was hardly a touching reunion he was witnessing. They were the only three people left who knew the truth. Alena was bloody minded, vindictive and in recent weeks had become a loose cannon. Harry, he thought, would take the secret with him to the grave but it was better that the thought became certainty.

* * *

><p>"They were an interesting few years, Harry."<p>

"I've had better."

"Surely you must look back on them often, now your career is at an end."

Harry looked at her coldly.

"You can't deny otherwise, running out on the Inquiry like that, treason topped with desertion, abandonment of duty and responsibility. Not like you, Harry." Her words dripped with sarcasm.

"Not all of us are proud of what we have done."

They were both talking about so much more that the Inquiry now.

"Oh, Harry, you should be, I mean how often is it that the KGB, CIA and MI5 can resolve to come together in such a united, beautiful operation?"

"Hardly united and definitely not beautiful."

It sickened him to think about it. He reached out, taking her vodka and consumed it to wash away the taste in his mouth.

"So what games are you playing Alena? What do you want?"

"You'll see, Harry. You''ll see."

And she got up, her hand trailing across his shoulder.

"Watch your back, Harry," she said as she walked away.

The blonde man hesitated and then he too decided to leave.

Harry sat and pondered how the hell he had got into this mess and wished, not for the first time, that he could just lose the beginning of the 80's.

Three of them left who knew.

He wondered how long it would remain at three.

Tomorrow would probably reveal the answer to that question soon enough.

* * *

><p>The CIA had their own sweet way of getting into locked rooms, it usually involved trying to shoot the lock off. He was a little more subtle than that. With great ease the door yielded to him. Silently he passed across the threshold, his blond head only visible for a moment before the door shut.<p>

* * *

><p>Harry enjoyed the crisp cold air after the stale and sour smell of the bar. He walked across the open square towards the less than salubrious hotel in which he was staying. The neon sign only half worked. It was less than grand.<p>

He climbed the several flights of stairs and rummaged in his pocket for the key.

He looked around him as he unlocked the door and then slipped inside. He crossed to the window to close the curtains on the glow of neon that became more irritating every night, before doing so standing back and scouring the street below for any figures lurking in the shadows. Convinced there were none his arms flung closed the dusty, moth eaten cloth.

It was then that he felt it.

Then that he knew he was not alone.

In one swift movement he pulled the gun from his jacket and swung round to face whichever of the two who had come he to kill him first.

"Long time no see."

His arms fell to his side, the grip on the gun slipped from his hand.

The blonde man looked down on the sleeping figure of Alena, she hadn't even made it to the bedroom but was slumped in an armchair, the needle still dangling from her hand. The morphine had made his life easy. The tumour would kill her soon enough but he couldn't wait that long, couldn't risk her unpredictability, her desire for releasing the truth, the danger she posed. He refilled the syringe, he filled it well and then without her even knowing it, he ended her life.

"What the hell are you doing here?" demanded Harry.

"I decided to take a trip East," she smiled and moved next to him, peeping out through the curtains at the neon sign, "The Grand Tour Hotel," she said translating, "it wasn't that difficult, Harry."

"You found the stick then?"

"Yes and read your message…read all of your messages."

She was thinking about only the one file as she said it, only the one message, only the one marked _Misc._

Harry nodded, he was thinking about the one message, the most important one, the only one.

"You shouldn't have come, Ruth."

"Well I have, now would you please tell me what the hell is going on?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Had started getting bored of my own story (never a good sign) so here's a slightly fluffy interlude.**

* * *

><p>"What's the truth, Harry?"<p>

"The truth," he said, as he sat down heavily on the bed, "the truth will send you running back to London."

"So much for it setting you free," she smiled.

"We both know that's far from true."

"Harry, I didn't come all this way and have several headaches trying to figure out where the hell you were to just disappear back home at some admission from the past."

"You will if I tell you this," he sighed.

"Oh, for heaven's sakes," she plonked down next to him.

They were both quiet and in their quietness the secrets, the admissions, the reasons for being here slipped away as both became steadily aware that they were both sitting on a bed in a hotel room far from home. Both contemplated getting up, both concluded that by doing so they would signal the thoughts currently speeding through their minds.

And so they sat, the bed becoming the one and only prominent feature in the room.

"I'm glad you're here," he said quietly, not looking at her.

"So am I," she said studying a crumbling corner of paint.

"But you shouldn't have come."

"Yes, but I did and I'm here now and that's that."

Silence descended again.

"Have you got somewhere to stay?" he asked.

She shook her head, "no, I wasn't really thinking that far ahead."

"I'll see if they have a room here," he was standing when her hand caught his arm.

"They haven't... I asked."

He hesitated and then sat back down, "Right," was all he could manage for a while as he tried to remind himself of the importance of self denial, "I'll sleep in the chair."

"No, Harry, it's your room ..."

"Ruth, you're not sleeping in that god awful, flea ridden, excuse for a chair."

"Don't be such a bloody martyr!"

"I'm not."

"If you'll let me finish I was about to say we'll both sleep in the bed."

"Right," answered Harry, grumpily before he'd actually realised just what she'd said.

"Right," answered Ruth firmly.

"Good" he stated, "... I mean good, that that's sorted out then," he mumbled, tailing off.

"So now you can tell me what happened after '83?" she persisted.

Harry sighed, she most certainly wouldn't want to share a bed with him after this.

"Ruth, you must be tired. I'll tell you everything in the morning."

She looked at him, skepticism reigning supreme across her face.

"Truly. I will," he said softly, "but not now, eh? It's too late and too complicated."

She hesitated before acceding.

"I need a shower," she announced, then she looked worried, "this place does have one doesn't it?"

"Of course," he said, mock insulted, "it comes free with a mouldy curtain and cockroaches."

"And towels?" she asked.

"Yes, even towels, but don't expect anything close to Egyptian cotton."

She got up and wondered in the direction of the bathroom muttering about it not being a very grand hotel at all. Harry smiled and wondered if he should get into bed first or wait for her. He decided to wait for her…didn't want to appear too keen now, did he?

Ruth stood in the luke warm shower paying vigilant attention to her feet and the cockroach that was currently lurking in the corner. This was not quite how she had pictured spending a night with Harry. In any other circumstance her curiosity about events would have killed her but as it was he was providing ample distraction.

The bathroom door would have swung open if it hadn't stuck. Instead Ruth tugged at it again and again.

"Harry," she shouted.

With that the door flew over.

"It sticks," said Harry as he was revealed on the other side.

"Thanks, I'd noticed," she said with a slightly impatient expression.

Harry had noticed. Noticed the silk nightdress, the lace at its top and bottom, the curves, the creamy softness of the skin, an expanse of her skin, the likes of which he had never seen before.

They were both aware of the hiatus of word or deed as they stood in the doorway.

"I'll just …" tailed off Harry as he gestured towards the bathroom and the two of them made to move past each other but stepped the same way and only succeeded in getting closer. She noticed Harry's breathing becoming heavier, he noticed Ruth's chest rising and falling beneath the sliding silk. And they both noticed that the other had noticed.

"Sorry," said Ruth and slipped past him.

"Sorry," said Harry and tugged the bathroom door closed behind him.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry emerged from the bathroom. He was still dressed, it seemed the wisest course of action.

His breath caught slightly as he saw Ruth was already in the bed. She was facing the far wall so he could not see her face. A small side light was still lit.

He crossed to the bed and sat down on his side and then he slid off his trousers and crawled under the sheet , still wearing his shirt and his boxers.

All was silent as he turned off the light. Surprisingly to Ruth it seemed little different, the neon light shone through the curtains and dimly illuminated the room.

Harry turned onto his right side. He was facing her, looking at her curls draped across the nakedness at the top of her back, a strap from her nightdress falling loosely over her left shoulder. He could not see her face, he could not see her eyes open, the expression of her total awareness of the presence of the man behind her, of the warmth radiating from him.

Harry's head was cushioned on his right arm, his left hand lay so very close to her. He flexed his fist to stop it from reaching out to touch her. He didn't know whether he was in heaven or hell as he breathed in her scent.

They lay there together and apart, neither anywhere near sleep. Both aware of the moment, the possibilities, the temptations, the consequences, both afraid of moving.

Eventually he could take no more.

"Ruth," he whispered and from his tone she knew all that he was asking, all that he wanted.

"Mmmm" was all she found she could say as she held her breath.

He unclenched his fist and a single finger reached out and slowly, gently began to trail a path across the skin of her back. He was almost trembling with desire for her.

"Harry," she said suddenly.

His hand fell away.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly and rolled onto his back, cursing himself for the lack of restraint he had shown.

She moved and he thought she was about to get out of bed and retreat to the rather horrendous chair in the corner of the room. But instead she turned towards him, her head propped up on her hand.

"You really do need to let me finish my sentences, Harry."

He was looking at the ceiling, eyes closed, eyes very firmly closed.

She wanted to say so much, to tell him how she felt but her nerve escaped her. She took a deep breath.

"I was about to say that your shirt is going to get creased."

"I've got another," he said seriously.

"But I like this one."

Her hand slid across his chest and he felt her begin to undo a button.

His eyes flickered open.

As the material parted her fingers gently caressed his chest for a moment before moving on to the next button.

His head, his eyes, his whole being turned to her.

"Ruth?" he said quietly once more giving her the chance to stop him now, or to give him her permission to finally take what he wanted, what he had always wanted. Her.

Her answer was another button released.

He took her hand and stopped it, moved it away, her face falling at the disappointment that he did not want her.

"You do know how I feel about you, don't you, Ruth?" he asked breathily.

"Yes," she said, "you told me in a file called 'miscellaneous'."

He touched her face, the slightest of touches, the lightest of touches, afraid of what he might do if he gave way to all that he wanted.

This time she found some courage.

"I … 'miscellaneous file' you too, Harry," she whispered.

He smiled a smile not often seen but always treasured as he leant across to her. He took her lips and pressed her to him as though he needed to absorb her, be part of her, consume her. She pressed and sought him back and at that moment in time he had all the permission he needed.


	16. Chapter 16

The blonde haired man stood in the square outside The Grand Tour Hotel, there was nothing grand about it, he concluded quickly. It was early and he was tired and more than a little hungry. Harry Pearce could wait, for a little while at least.

A confused mass of limbs tangled under the sheet but on the surface their two heads lay side by side looking serene in sleep. Ruth's eyes flickered open and she screamed. Not a full bloodied, soul wrenching scream, more a surprised, alarmed, shocked sounding scream, in fact, more of an "aargh!" than a scream.

Harry woke up with a distinct shock both at the noise and Ruth lurching up and beating around his head.

"Ruth!" he said, sitting up, "what the hell...!"

"It's fine. Is fine," she said, breathing slightly heavily and collapsing back onto her pillow.

He looked at her, still alarmed.

"Cockroach," she said simply.

"Cockroach?"

"Yes, I woke up and it was the first thing I saw."

"I've been called many things in my time, Ruth..."

"It was crawling towards your head and made me jump."

Harry laughed, settling back down beside her.

"Next time I'll leave it if you want and you can swallow it when you're snoring," she said rather irked at his amusement.

A smile spread across Harry's face.

"What?" she said, "are you about to deny you snore?"

"No," he grinned.

"Then why are you smiling like the proverbial Cheshire cat?"

"How many reasons do you want, Ruth," he said stroking her face tenderly.

She too found the smile spreading across her lips.

"Beside which you said 'next time'."

"Did I."

"Yes, you most certainly did," he whispered as he edged closer to her, "next time, Ruth..." his voice was low and resonant before his lips pressed against hers hungrily.

But she wasn't responding...not properly.

"Stop smiling," he demanded.

"Can't."

"Can't kiss you, if you're smiling," he murmured, still trying.

But she couldn't stop.

He gave up and pulled back to look at her.

Their heads rested side by side as they had when they slept. But now eyes were open as they gazed at each other, both smiling.

Her eyes flicked over his face, at a ruffled Harry Pearce lying beside her.

His eyes tried to remember every moment with a naked, beautiful Ruth sharing his bed.

"Tell me, now, Harry."

"I love you."

She smiled. "I know. I meant tell me what's going on."

He stopped smiling.


	17. Chapter 17

Harry wasn't too sure that he should be about to tell Ruth what he was about to tell her whilst lying in bed with her, but if she reacted the way he expected her to react, then the last thing he wanted to do was end what he had right now.

"Harry, please."

A hand snaked out and began to trace patterns on his chest. In this position he thought he would tell her anything.

"It's all linked to the Cold War isn't it?"

"Yes," he said.

"And something happened between the CIA, KGB and us?"

He looked from her hand to her, surprised, eyes full of questions.

"That's all I could find, nothing more," she said.

He nodded, surprised she knew that much.

And then he began.

"Reagan, with the support of certain other leaders was pushing his anti communist policy." He rolled onto his back with the thought that this was all going to be easier to say if he was looking at the cracked ceiling rather than at Ruth's principled eyes, "He was pushing and pushing, taking all of us to the brink."

"Able Archer," said Ruth.

"Yes, exactly. The cousins were against having a cowboy in control particularly one who seemed set on leading them into Armageddon, the KGB were feeling threatened and were battling to keep their leaders from pressing the button any minute. We were all fighting to stop the rumours and maintain some kind of calm."

Her hand still rested on his chest, her thumb still in perpetual movement. It comforted him and he felt the confidence to go on.

"The solution was judged relatively straightforward, it was the politicians who were causing the problems, but they had support, too much support. And then it emerged that certain members of the CIA had already acted."

He felt her hand still a little.

"Hinckley," he added softly, "was no madman."

Her hand stopped, shocked at what she was hearing.

"But that was '81, Reagan was barely in the job."

"They feared what was to come even then,"

"They tried to assassinate their own president?"

She watched him as he nodded, eyes still fixed above.

"But failed," said Harry, "they were too wary to try again but they pursued a policy of stepping back, of security but not rigorous security, hoping the job would be done for them, by some other supposed madman. It wasn't."

"And the KGB?"

"A small group knew that there were those in the background, like Gorbachev, who were less hard line but they couldn't directly influence their rise to power."

Ruth laughed a mirthless laugh as she began to understand.

"But they could influence control of their leaders if they were sick and dying, barely seen in public. One after another. Brezhnev, Andrapov and Chernenko."

Harry nodded, "within only a few years. And then there was Gorbachev."

"And all the agencies knew about this, co-operated in all of this?"

"A very small group."

"Including you?"

"I didn't know, not at first."

"How many know now, Harry?"

"Three. Alena Ivanov, Jefferson James and me. The rest are dead."

"Is that a coincidence?" she asked. She didn't receive an answer.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed as her arm slid around him, her head coming to rest on his chest. She waited for his arm to move around her but it did not.

Harry knew that he had no choice but to say more, to tell her the rest.

He took a deep breath but it was too late.

He felt something change, he felt the tension in her body as it rested against his. And then he felt her withdraw from him and he knew the moment, possibly every moment, was gone.

Her head reared up as she rested on her elbow. "That's not all is it?"

"No," he whispered.

"Why would you run, why would you leave the Inquiry when all you were protecting were the Soviets and the cousins?"

They were all rhetorical questions. She was on the path to the answer herself.

"Oh, my god, Harry!"

He was glad he wasn't looking at her face, though the incredulity in her voice was enough to imprint an image in his mind.

"Brighton…Thatcher!"

He closed his eyes against all the images.

"That was Five's involvement!"

He could not answer.

"Harry, tell me the truth. Did you have anything to do with the bombing. Did Thatcher's support of Reagan make her a target too?"

"Yes."

The shame stained his voice, stained all three letters of his reply.

The shocked tone of hers was replaced by a quiet, horrible, dread.

"Harry, what did you do?"


	18. Chapter 18

**By the way lots of disclaimers. Spooks isn't mine and everything historical is only based on the loose truth and the rest is made up.**

* * *

><p>"Harry?"<p>

"I found the intel on Patrick Magee. Discovered that he had planted the bomb in the hotel, that his target was the Cabinet, Thatcher, as many as he could take down."

"You knew?" she said incredulously.

He nodded.

"… And?"

She did not want the answer.

He did not want to give it.

"I did nothing."

Suddenly there was a massive distance between them, suddenly her shock was horror, was anger, was loathing. Her voice was cold, hard and empty.

"What did you say? Too long and complicated to tell me last night! What did you think, Harry? After sleeping with me I'd be more likely to capitulate, to give you absolution. That I'd be so grateful it wouldn't matter what you'd done?"

"No, Ruth, no. It wasn't like that."

"How could you do nothing! We protect people, we keep them safe. People died, they were maimed. How could you do nothing? And for god's sake, it was the IRA! After all the time you'd spent in Northern Ireland!"

"I called it in. I was on my way to clear the hotel."

"Then why didn't you?"

"I was ordered to stand off."

"By?"

"The DG."

Ruth looked at him.

"That's when I found out about the rest, the Americans, the Soviets and what we were doing."

"But you should have stopped it," she shouted exasperated and disappointed.

"I know," he shouted back. "I know and don't think I don't regret that. I do. But I was told by my senior officer to let it go, to say nothing. Thatcher and Reagan both pursuing the same goals, both had been there in Europe for Able Archer, both had nearly brought about the end of us all with their jingoistic, idealistic, hard nosed beligerence."

"I was only following orders .. my god, you sound like you're on trial at Nuremburg! You let them die, Harry. You."

And with that she swung out of the bed, grabbed her clothes and made straight for the bathroom.

"Ruth!" he called, but knew it was in vain. There was no answer. The cracks in the ceiling were no more interesting, no more comforting than before.

He turned onto his stomach and dug his face into the pillow which still smelt of her and cursed himself, his timing and the past.

He did not see the door handle slowly lower and the bedroom door start to open.


	19. Chapter 19

Cold metal pressed against Harry's naked shoulder.

"Hello, old man."

Jefferson James.

All feelings of self pity left Harry in that moment, all his focus was on if James knew Ruth was here.

He turned slowly in the bed, his eyes scanning the room, relieved to see that there was nothing of hers that was evident. He hoped she had heard the quiet Boston accent, hoped she herself would be quiet and stay where she was.

"Jefferson," said Harry as he finally faced the blond haired man who had changed little since he had last seen him some twenty odd years ago.

"Well, isn't this a pleasant reunion," he smiled.

"I've had better" said Harry, the gun still hovering uncomfortably close to his chest, "I would imagine Alena would be sorry she's missed it."

James smiled, "Alena's at her own reunion, right now.

He needed to say no more, Harry knew. And he knew he was next.

"She was a loose cannon, had to be stopped," James justified.

"And what? So am I?"

"No, I think you'll stay quiet, Harry, as much out of shame as anything. That's your problem isn't it?" He laughed. "The rest of us go about our business, make the decisions and move on, consequences forgotten, guilt gone. But not you Harry, you make the decisions and wrestle with the consequences, you never forget and you never forgive yourself. It surprises me that you survived this long. A moral man in a world of immoral deeds. In a way I admire you."

"Clearly," said Harry, his head nodding towards the gun.

James laughed.

"Would you prefer to 'admire' me somewhere else, I can't imagine you want the mess of leaving a slain Englishman in his hotel room."

He needed to get them both out of here. To keep Ruth safe.

"Oh, don't worry yourself, I have no intention of shooting you. I have something much less messy and so much more convincing for a middle aged, unfit man with a heart problem."

Harry opened his mouth but James continued.

"And please don't tell me you don't have a heart problem because I think you'll find that you do now." And as he said it he pulled a syringe from his jacket pocket, his smile becoming more pronounced.

"Hands behind your head, Harry."

"Why should I when you're not going to shoot me?"

The barrel of the gun swung across Harrys jaw with remarkable force and he fought to remain conscious.

It was in that moment that the needle slid into his arm.


	20. Chapter 20

Ruth thought herself quite traditional in the fact that she preferred the use of a plug to hold the water in the bath rather than The Grand Tour Hotel's use of a brick. At this moment in time she could, however, see the benefits of the brick.

And thus it came crashing down on the blonde head of the CIA.

As he tumbled to the ground it was then that she saw the needle fall from Harry's outstretched arm and she thought it all too late.

"Harry," she cried and immediately fell to her knees beside him. She grasped at his face, avoiding the large welt on his cheek and the cut at its centre.

"Harry, Harry, talk to me."

He groaned, his eyes fighting to open.

"Please…."

He looked towards her but could not focus.

"How do you feel?"

"I can see two of you," he gasped.

She was frantically trying to think which drug James might have used and wondering how much longer she would have with him before he was taken from her.

"I rather like seeing two of you."

She looked at him. She didn't think this was a side effect she had been told about.

He began to sit up, struggling and rubbing his head.

She bent down to the floor and picked up the syringe. It was full.

Harry's hand reached out for her, groping towards one of the two Ruth's he could see. With a cry born of tension, relief and the after effects of a surge of adrenalin she batted him away and he fell back hitting his head on the wall behind the bed.

"Aargh!"

Immediately she felt guilty. And then came the tears. She brushed them away angrily.

"Ruth," said Harry quietly, torn between nursing his head, rubbing the puncture wound on his arm, or comforting a clearly upset Ruth. He wanted to reach out for her but thought it wiser not to.

"There are things I need to tell you Ruth … before…before…"

He wanted her to know how much he loved her, how sorry he was for everything, how he wished things had been different and how he hoped that she could perhaps forgive him a little for all that he'd done."

She got up, stepping over the still inert James.

"Ruth. Ruth, please…don't walk away for me now. I've only got seconds to say this. Please."

She turned back to him, a small first aid kit in hand.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, to make sure he said all that needed to be said.

That's when his eyes focused, to some extent, on the double syringe she was holding up before him. Both were full.

"Oh," he said.

"Exactly," said Ruth, sternly. "Whatever you're about to say can wait. You're going nowhere."

She began to rummage noisily in the first aid kit.

"You're still angry with me?"

She didn't answer.

"You must be disappointed I'm still alive then," he said, statement not question.

'Don't be so bloody stupid," she snapped, "now come here," and she pulled his face towards her roughly, turning his cheek to the light streaming from the curtains, readying the antiseptic cream and the plaster.

Harry strained to look back at her.

"Your eyes look beautiful when you're angry," he said, "all four of them."

"Be quiet," she answered face full of concentration "and keep still."

"I'm sorry, Ruth."

She pressed the plaster onto his wound and he winced.

"Did that hurt?" she asked.

"A little."

"Good."

"Ruth!"

"Well, I'm mad with you."

"I'd noticed."

"And what the hell are we going to do with him?" she jerked her chin towards James.

"Is he dead?"

She reached down and felt for a pulse.

"I think so," she said, quietly now, "I seem to be making a habit of killing people."

"Only bad people, Ruth."

"Can you disassociate the two?"

"Yes."

"What about innocent people then? In a hotel?"

Harry hung his head.

Ruth gazed at him and as she did Jonathon James's recent words came back to her.

"A moral man in a world of immoral deeds" she repeated.

"I try, Ruth. I do try. But often I fail."

She sighed, "So what do we do now? With him? We can't exactly call for help, seeing as you're on the run and I've gone AWOL."

"Well I'm here under a false name. You?"

"Yes. A legend Tariq gave me."

"They've hardly seen me downstairs, I arrived late and it was dim as dishwater down there with only one dodgy old bulb. What about when you arrived here?"

"I looked at the register when no-one was there and recognised your legend and came straight up. So I wasn't seen."

"But what about when you asked if they had any rooms?"

Ruth began to pack away the first aid kit.

"Ruth?"

"... I didn't."

"... You didn't ask?"

She shook her head, her eyes remaining on her hands' activities.

"I see," said Harry, trying not to smile.

He let the comment hang in the air, waiting to see if she felt the need to defend herself or not.

She did.

"Well, it had taken me so long to find you that I didn't really want to let you out of my sight."

"And you could do that better from my bed?" the smile was so close to the surface.

"Possibly."

"Right," he said and swung his legs out of bed.

Faced with the possibility of his imminent nudity and the fact that she knew he wouldn't let the last admission go, she stood up and returned the small box to her bag.

"You wanted to sleep with me, Ruth. Just admit it." His eyes were warm and dark and tempting.

"I wanted to find out what was going on."

"Well you have."

"Yes, I have."

"And now what?"

"I don't know, Harry, you tell me because from where I'm sitting with a dead man at my feet, it's all a bloody mess."


	21. Chapter 21

**Exhausted by plot...fluff ahead, though the remnants of the plot will get wrapped up within it.**

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><p>"First of all we have to get out of here."<p>

"Really, I thought we'd just stay, after all it's so lovely and the company is so pleasant," she said glancing at the body on the floor.

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Ruth."

"It was irony."

"Irony doesn't suit you, Ruth."

He got up from the bed and walked to the bathroom, picking up his clothes as he went. Ruth looked quickly away.

"You've seen it all before," he smiled.

"Actually I haven't," she said.

"Well, you've touched it all before."

"Harry, for god's sake! This is not about us."

"Isn't it? Then what is it all about, Ruth?" he stood in the middle of the room.

Her eyes met his and she refused to look away, she most certainly refused to look down.

"Like you said, we have to leave now," she said with determination.

He stepped over James, so much closer to her now. Not touching but too near.

"Do I at least have time to get dressed, Ruth."

Her eyes did their practiced dart away, as they always did. She realised she was looking at his chest. Her eyes darted back.

"Yes. I think you better had."

He smiled and walked away.


	22. Chapter 22

"What about his body?"

It was the first question Ruth asked as a now dressed Harry emerged from the bathroom.

"Leave that to me."

She looked at him. She thought about commenting on his ability to deal with all those who died around him and then she remembered that it was her who had killed James, this was her guilt to bear, but she felt no guilt. And yet she was judging Harry on what he had done, when many years later he was the one still racked by regret.

"Okay," was all she said, but she said it softly.

"I need you to get out of here, now, Ruth, without being noticed."

"What about you?"

"I'll meet you this afternoon at four o'clock at this address," he handed her a slip of paper.

She took it but he didn't let her hand move away. His fingers curled over hers. He looked at her hand in his, his thumb stroking the back of her ring finger before he realised what he was doing, his thumb pausing in its movement, his eyes seeking her out.

"But Harry…"

"Trust me, Ruth."

"I do. It's just…"

"What?"

"What if you don't come?"

"I will."

"If you don't how will I find you again."

"I'll find _you_, Ruth. I'll always find you … as long as you want me to?"

She nodded.

"Are you still mad with me?"

"Only a little."

"How little?"

"About this much," she said, indicating a small gap between thumb and index finger.

Harry smiled.

"I'll have to work on that, then."

"Harry why did you have to run from the Inquiry? They would have never found out about all this."

"Alena had someone on the committee, they might not have known all but they knew enough to press about Brighton. I think Alena would have kept feeding them information, questions, who knows what else."

"But why?"

"Who knows for sure. She was always on the verge of being unstable at the best of times."

Ruth sighed.

"I couldn't let them find out about this, Ruth. Can you possibly imagine what would happen if they learnt the highest echelons of the security services knew about that bomb and did nothing. Five would be crucified, Section D, all of you would be gone. It's not about me, Ruth."

"I know, I know that." She clasped his hands tightly in hers now.

"But it's…"

"We can talk about this later," he interrupted her, "please go and be safe."

She gazed into his deep warm eyes and releasing one hand she lifted it and indicated an even smaller gap between thumb and finger.

"Maybe about this much."

He laughed and grabbed her hand and kissed it.

"That's good," he said, "now go."


	23. Chapter 23

**Sorry, short one as I've had loads of other stuff to do!**

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><p>Ruth sat outside the cafe, it wasn't quite on the level of the The Grand Tour Hotel but it wasn't too far off. Harry certainly knew how to pick them.<p>

She was early, it was 3.30 but she could wait no longer. The day had been interminably long.

She looked at her watch not for the first, nor the last time.

She was still finding it difficult to comprehend what he had done, of rather what he had not done, but it was hard to judge anyone who did the job they did and Harry did it better and with more honour and decency than most. Besides which she was in love with him.

Half an hour and another cup of coffee later she was on even higher alert.

People passed. They came and went.

But no one stopped.

No one.

She looked at her watch and convinced herself that he was held up, after all disposing of bodies was not the most straightforward of tasks, not to mention the bodies of high ranking members of the CIA.

She waited, supposedly patiently, but not.

Her thoughts were random, mixed and occasionally x rated. She tried to focus on the latter and the memories of last night, she didn't have to try too hard, they were fresh, beautiful, overwhelming memories. She hoped they would not be the only ones.

The waiter came over and put down his tray, collecting the second empty cup. He asked if he could bring her anything else but she declined politely. He turned away and that's when she saw the envelope he had left on the table as he removed his tray.

She glanced around and opened it casually, even though her hands were keen to rip it apart.

_Ruth, if you're reading this then I am sorry I could not make it at the time we said._

_Don't worry. But don't wait for me._

_If you trust me then meet me in Prague. You'll work out where and the Turk will tell you when. _

_And in case you doubt this is from me, as you would be right to, then know this – yours is the most beautiful birthmark I have ever seen! And as for its position – perfect._

_I 'misc file' you. X_


	24. Chapter 24

Ruth sat in the Old Town Square and waited. It was four o'clock, the time he had told her to meet him in Moscow. And now she waited for the Turk, who stood beside Death, opposite the Jew and Vanity.

She had done it for the last three days.

But still he had not come.

She knew she was right, that this is where he meant, here under the astronomical clock.

It was that time again.

Her hope was mixed with fear and dread that yet again she would remain alone as the figures stilled once more after marking the hour.

"Hi," said a soft voice behind her.

She did not turn.

"You took your time."

"Things to do, Ruth, people to see."

"Well, thanks," she said, pretending to be offended.

"But none more important than you."

Now she smiled and now she turned.

"Come on," he said quickly and grabbed her hand, pulling her from the chair.

"Where are we going?" she laughed.

"A slightly more salubrious hotel than The Grand Tour."

"But I'm already staying somewhere," she protested.

"Indeed you are. With me."

They walked into Harry's room. He was right, it was decidedly more upmarket than the last.

"How long have you been here?" she asked glancing round the room which already looked lived in.

"Since yesterday morning."

"Yesterday! Why didn't you meet me then?"

"I needed to make sure neither of us had been followed or were being watched, that we were safe."

His head nodded towards the window. She crossed to it and looked out. He had a perfect view of the Square and the clock and the seat she had been sat in for the last few days.

"And are we? Safe, that is."

"For the moment, Ruth. But that's something we need to talk about."

She waited for him to go on. He didn't. He simply stood watching her.

"Well then? Shouldn't we talk about it?"

He shook his head and began to walk very slowly across the room towards her.

"Why not?"

He smiled, "because," he said leaning in to within inches of her face, "there's a certain birthmark that I'm beginning to think that I imagined."

"Oh," she smiled, "well, you didn't."

"Prove it," he whispered breathily.


	25. Chapter 25

"Harry ….stop."

He didn't want to stop.

"Please…Harry!"

He stopped.

His head lifted from her chest, his expression disappointed and confused.

For a moment she seriously considered telling him to just carry on. But no.

"Harry, the last time this happened…"

"Mmm," came a resonant rumble as his lips refound her skin.

"Harry!"

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"The last time this happened, the following morning you told me something terrible. And I have a horrible feeling tomorrow will be no different."

He looked away, the smile gone.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

He lay back beside her.

"Tell me, please."

He hesitated.

"I'm dead, Ruth."

"What?" she sat up, alarmed.

"That's why I was delayed, I had to call some old associates, they helped me fix things. As far as Five know I will be reported dead in the next few days."

She stared at him.

"I can't go back, Ruth. I can't go home."

She lay back and the two stared at the ceiling. It was a much nicer ceiling than in Moscow, with intact plaster, fresh paint and cornices.

"When you get back will you tell Catherine I'm okay, I couldn't bear for her not to know."

"No, I will not!"

Harry pondered the fact that all he managed to do these days was either make her angry or gasp with pleasure.

She sat up again, infuriated.

"What am I? What is _this,_ some way of breaking bad news? Instead of a cigarette afterwards you just land bloody bombshells!"

"But you know I can't go back, there'll be questions asked and I still don't know how much Alena's associates knew. If I'm there they will go after me and try and out the secret and then we are back to square one. No Section D, no respect, a total disaster for the security services."

"Fine then tell me all this before, not after!"

"If I told you before then we may not get to the after."

"And you're so desperate for a shag you have to lie to me."

"No, I'm so desperate for you that everything else doesn't seem to matter, Ruth."

She conceded to herself that this was a good answer.

"Well, I can't tell Catherine," she muttered huffily.

"Why not?" he asked sadly.

"Because I'm not going back either."

"Don't be ridiculous, this can't ruin both our lives."

"Oh, shut up, Harry! I've been dead before, I know what it's like, you don't. And if you're going, I'm going. Besides which the only thing that will ruin my life is going back without you."

She folded her arms against her chest defiantly.

Harry's face remained serious, "you really are a stubborn old mule, aren't you?"

"Yes, I bloody well am," she snapped, "now where shall we live?"

"Are you sure, Ruth?"

The glare he received in response persuaded him to ask no more.

"Well, I have somewhere that I bought, years ago, untraceable to me, worth a reasonable amount now. But it's a long way away."

"Right that'll do," she said and lay back down, "Is there anything else of great import you need to tell me, or is that it?"

"That's it."

"Good, now I seem to remember you were occupying yourself with my birthmark," she said with one eyebrow raised, unfolding her arms.

Harry looked at her, always astounded by this woman that he loved so much.

"Do you need a second invitation Harry?"she smiled.

He most certainly did not.

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><p><strong>Okay, methinks this is the end, though I may be persuaded to write an epilogue, if anyone fancies one?<strong>


	26. Chapter 26

**Hope this kind of ties things up well enough. Thank you for all your lovely and generous reviews.**

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><p>Catherine got out of the car. She had detoured across half the globe, travelling in the most uncomfortable circumstances and always under false names. Finally…finally she had arrived, and she hoped to god that she had brought no risk, no danger, with her.<p>

The sight that greeted her was almost reminiscent of something from deep, deep within her childhood, it brought forth a memory of her father on holiday when she was very small and he was relaxed and happy and, most importantly… there.

And thus was Harry right now.

He leant down and thanked the driver of the car, whom he trusted and then crossed around to greet the daughter he hadn't seen for six months.

She threw her arms around him, relieved not only to see him but to see him so well, so at ease, so happy, so very unlike her father. Not a tie, nor a suit in sight, instead a blue short sleeved polo shirt and a pair of stone coloured cut offs.

"Are you really my father, or an imposter?"

He laughed.

She looked over his shoulder at the view of the bay before her.

"My god, dad, it's beautiful!"

"I'm glad you think so. And I am sorry that you've had to go through so much to get here. You know I really do appreciate it."

She smiled, "well now I'm here, you may not get rid of me."

He grinned.

"Though if anyone asks me my name right now, I'm going to struggle to answer them."

"I'll just tell them you're drunk," said Harry, laughing.

"Well, in that case you better hurry up and get me a drink."

They walked from the road to the house which lay at the edge of the small town of Russell, on the North Island of New Zealand. It was known as 'Romantic Russell', a small, subtle, understated but beautiful town which overlooked Kororareka Bay and its turquoise waters.

There was a table laid for dinner on the verandah of the house, which lay right on the edge of the water, overlooking the boats, lit by the evening sunshine.

"Ruth," called Harry.

"Coming" came a voice from within.

Harry smiled at Catherine, she noticed that he hadn't really stopped smiling.

Ruth appeared from the house in a baggy pair of jeans and a shirt tied at the waist, which Catherine suspected was her father's. It was casual and slightly slapdash and yet she looked radiant.

"You found him then?" said Catherine, as Ruth approached.

"Yes and he found me," laughed Ruth as the younger woman hugged her.

"Well," she said, "for a dead man and a decommissioned woman on the verge of breakdown you both look incredibly well."

"It's amazing what a bit of sea air can do," Harry said as he opened the bottle of wine which was awaiting them on the table.

Ruth took Catherine's bags and dropped them inside the house. When she returned Harry slid an arm around her and handed a glass to them both.

"So I hear it's known as 'Romantic Russell'?" teased Catherine, "I hope dad's living up to the place, Ruth."

"He has his moments…occasionally."

"Occasionally!" said an outraged Harry.

"Often," corrected a smiling Ruth.

Catherine felt a small lump in her throat watching them. She had only been here a matter of minutes, she had never seen the two of them together before and yet it was so wonderfully apparent how much they adored each other that she felt an overwhelming sense of joy for them both.

"I didn't know he had it in him," she laughed, trying to disguise how emotional she felt.

"Neither did I," said Ruth.

"Right, well, if you two have finished talking about me?"

"We haven't," they said at the same time.

Harry sighed and walked towards the house muttering, "I'll go and get dinner then."

Catherine and Ruth watched him go, still giggling slightly.

"Thank you," said Catherine quietly.

"It's our pleasure, you know you're welcome …even though it's not the easiest journey to make!"

"No, Ruth I meant thank you for making dad so happy."

"You really don't need to thank me for that, Catherine."

"No, but I do," said a husky voice, as he planted a kiss on her cheek and put a large dish on the table, "green lipped mussels, come and eat."

And so they did. They sat and talked and watched the sun go down behind the boats and laughed and lived and were happy.


End file.
